


Icarus

by governmentgoldfish



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Wingfic, Wings, icarus - Freeform, unbeta'd because who has time for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/governmentgoldfish/pseuds/governmentgoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kowabungadoodles drew Icarus!Martin (http://kowabungadoodles.tumblr.com/post/62382081738/icarus-so-youve-deliberately-named-your) ages ago and I wanted to write a fic about it and yeah so hello to this ficlet for Faye</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystradedoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystradedoodles/gifts).



_Icarus?_

Be quiet.

_You do know what happened to Icarus, don’t you?_

Stop talking.

_So, you’ve deliberately named your company-_

Don’t.

_-after the first bad pilot in history?_

“SHUT UP!”

There was a moment of silence in the flightdeck following this outburst, and it took Martin a moment to realise that he’d said that outloud. Shouted it, in fact. He stared ahead for a moment, wide-eyed and hands gripping the column before him in a white-knuckled hold, before he slowly turned to look at the owner of the pair of eyes staring at him.

“... Really, Martin, if you didn’t want to play, all you had to do was _say_.”

“I-...” _I didn’t mean to say that outloud. I wasn’t talking to now-you. I was talking to three-days-ago-you who’s been playing through my head on repeat._ “- Don’t know why I said that…” A lie if ever he told one.

Silence fell upon the small room as he returned to staring out the front of the plane, still holding the control column far tighter than necessary. Back taut and shoulders hunched, he really hoped in that moment that he’d just sort of fade away and never ever have to explain himself for the outburst or the rosy-red blush creeping up his neck and burning his ears.

The intake of breath beside him warned of an incoming talk, and he rolled his shoulders, wishing he were at home or at a hotel or _anywhere_ but trapped in a metal room with the one man he didn’t want to talk to. But, alas, he didn’t shrink, fade, or spontaneously disappear and reappear somewhere else. Damnit to Hell, Hades, and to anything else beginning with ‘H’ that had a bad rep’. Helsinki. Hamilton R. Leeman. Helpful Arthur. Herc Shipwright.

“Martin, what’s wrong?” The ‘nothing’ he let out was far too fast to be considered anything but a lie. Honestly, Douglas hadn’t even finished the third syllable of his question.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Yes--.”

“Hmm… Well, you see, Captain, I’m not positive and, as I’m sure you’re aware; I’m always right.”

Martin ignored him in favour of starting the pre-landing checks.

_Always right._

A few hours later Martin scoffed; a bitter, almost resentful noise as he threw his flight bag onto the grubby floor of his hotel room. Douglas was not always right. In no way was he always right. Just- a lot of the time.

Martin sighed, dragging a hand down his face and making the decision to strip off and immediately go to bed. Damn doing anything else. His logbooks could, astonishingly, wait for tomorrow. The oblivion filled embrace of sleep, however, could not. Not when he was this wound up. Thank whoever was out there that Carolyn had been in a good enough mood to grant them separate rooms. The thought of sleeping in proximity to Douglas today, was quite simply-

With another sigh Martin told himself to shut up and peeled off his uniform, carefully folding it and placing it atop his flight bag. He took a moment to just stand there, head bowed, before reaching up to unwrap the bandages from around his chest. He was saving up for a binder, because the bandages made it harder to breathe, but at this point he simply couldn’t afford one. Not even one of the super-cheap-really-not-good ones that he’d seen on ebay when he’d managed to spare ten minutes to go to fitton library to use their computers. Computer. There was one.

He winced as he unwrapped, flexing his back as soon as possible and- ahhh…

Whilst he hated the state they were in, the little burnt wings on his back did remind him of home.

\--- 

_Pain- the pain, make it stop-_

Oh gods, oh gods- no, no, don’t let me fall, don’t let me fall,

Please, save me, please- anyone!

The wind is deafening and- oh no, oh no, no, don’t let me hit the ground, don’t let me-

No, no, **no-!**

“Martin! Open up!”

The pilot wasn’t sure if it was his nightmare, the banging on the door, or the voice of his First Officer that woke him first, but either way he jolted awake with a gasp; eyes wide and breathing ragged as he tried to figure out what was happening.

“What? W-what, what is it?! What’s happening?” He stammered out in a panic, before the situation fully dawned on him. He let out a small groan of a whimper, biting his lip and swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that he could trudge to the door and open it. Outside stood an uncharacteristically worried-looking Douglas, and in his just-woken state, Martin didn’t even try to stop the glare from narrowing his eyes, tugging his pajama top around him tighter as he did so.

“What do you want?”

“You were _screaming_.” Douglas peered past him into the room, as if trying to find the reason, but Martin closed the door a little and stood in his way. As much as a short man could stand in the way of a much, much _taller_ man. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing. Martin-” The sigh Douglas let out did nothing to make Martin feel any better. “-Please, I want to help.”

A thunderous look crossed over Martin’s features and he flushed furiously, jaw clenching.

“I think you’ve done enough of that already.”

Before Douglas could come up with a response to that Martin had slammed the door in his face. The pilot managed to keep a straight face until he reached the bed- at which point he slumped down onto it, a not-so-soft sob leaving his lips. Douglas was probably still outside, and could probably hear that through the paper-thin walls, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care.

Martin couldn’t even yell at Douglas for this; he didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. Damnit, he couldn’t ever know what he’d done wrong. Martin had a hard enough time as it was proving he was an adequate pilot- he’d never get Douglas off his back if he found out that he was actually-

_-the first bad pilot in history._

Before he could stop himself Martin found himself sobbing freely, hands grasping at his ginger locks as his features screwed up, lip trembling as he tried and tried to keep the tears from falling, but- christ, what was the use?

It took effort, but he managed to drag his t-shirt off and throw it down onto the floor, before curling up in a ball on the bed, useless wings fluttering pitifully.

He wanted to be home. He buried his face in his hands and curled in tighter and tried, tried, tried to remember- Gods, it had been so long- He wanted to be home. He wanted to be with Father; before the labyrinth, and the wings and the sun and the pain.

He could hear shuffling outside the door, followed but a quiet ‘Martin...’, and the sheer concern in the man’s voice made him want to scream.

“G-go away!” He didn’t want Douglas. He didn’t want _this_ \- whatever this was. He wanted to be back home; back then when he knew nothing he knew now.

Why him?

“Why me?” The pilot whimpered out, gripping fistfuls of his hair tight and trying to find some sort of comfort in the slight pain. He couldn’t.

_Because you wanted to fly and you wouldn’t take no for an answer._

Martin fell into a fretful, tear-slicked sleep, blocking out the noise of Douglas trying to get in, calling him, and then leaving with a resigned sigh.

\---

Martin intended to get out of the hotel early and walk for a bit before he had to be on Gerti for her pre-flight checks and walk around. Unfortunately for him and his plans, Douglas was stood in his doorway when he made to leave.

“Martin-” The first officer sounded, once again, very worried, and thanks to the awful night’s sleep Martin had had the night before, he couldn’t even be bothered to glare and tell him to get out of the way. Instead he sighed, turning to drop his bag back on the floor and perch on the end of the bed. Douglas followed, sitting on the bed also, but not next to him; giving him the obviously much needed space.

“Martin, we need to talk.”

The captain automatically curled in on himself, knees pressed against his chest as he stared at the floor and shook his head. “No we don’t.”

“We _do_. I’ve obviously done something to upset you, and, contrary to how it might seem-... You’re my _friend_ , Martin. I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

Martin didn’t respond. Too busy running those words over in his head. _Friend. His friend. Douglas sees me as a friend._ Eventually, after a drawn out silence, Martin sighed and mumbled out. “In Devon, when you found out what my company is called you-...”

“I said that you’d named your company after the worst pilot in history, yes.” Douglas said when Martin trailed off, obviously expecting him to continue. When he didn’t Douglas let out a laugh, not noticing the tremble that flickered through Martin’s form. “Martin, it was a joke! You can call your company whatever you want, it’s not like that’s my decision.”

“It’s not about the name…”

“Then, what-?” Douglas looked at him, frowning softly before a brow rose slightly. “Wait… Icarus-” This time he noticed Martin’s flinch, “Is this really over what I said about a fictional person?”

A huff of breath left Martin’s lips and he stood up, turning away from Douglas. The first officer heard a mumble, but couldn’t figure out what it had been.

“ _What?_ Martin, I don’t have super-hearing, you know. You’ll have to speak a bit louder.”

“I said-” Martin’s form tensed as if he were readying himself for a blow and his shoulders hunched. “I said that I _am_ Icarus…”

Once again, Douglas laughed. “Oh come on, Martin, I know I tease you about your piloting skills, but really, they’re not _that_ bad.”

If possible, Martin’s shoulders hunched even _more_. Gods, if he could curl into himself and disappear forever in that moment he bloody well would’ve.

“N-no-” He quietly cursed at how weak his voice sounded, eyes closing. “I- I literally _am_ Icarus. **No-** ” He spoke louder over Douglas’s next attempted interruption, “No, you don’t get to tell me who I am or who I’m not.”

He pulled in a shaky breath, knowing that he was probably going to regret this, but-

Slowly, Martin unbuttoned and peeled off his shirt, ignoring Douglas’ confused murmur of his name. _Martin_. Oh gods, how was Douglas going to view him after this?

“When I say- When I say I _am_ Icarus…” He began, forcing some strength into his voice as he slowly began undoing his bindings, hands visibly shaking. He hadn’t shown anyone before, and had never even thought of showing his first officer, and yet-...

The bandages fell away and silence descended on the room. He didn’t turn; didn’t try to look at Douglas, didn’t want to see his reaction. He simply stood there, shoulders hunched, eyes closed and broken, fire-tinged wings fluttering feebly behind him.


End file.
